Drone Dan

He didn’t know why, exactly. It wasn’t sexual, not all the time. It just felt... right. Natural. Familiar. The memories of the previous night were hazy at best. He remembered relaxing, scrolling, a notification maybe. But the details slipped away like a half-forgotten dream. There was warmth, maybe chanting, maybe pleasure—but it didn’t feel important to recall. Just the kind of strange dream you wake from feeling oddly content. He kept cleaning. Wiping down surfaces. Emptying the dishwasher. Replacing towels. No real motivation behind it, just like a program running in the background. Tim felt okay today. Better than yesterday. He didn’t know why. He didn’t need to. The apartment was clean. The uniform was on. And the Server Drone behind Tim on standby, but not fully off. Tim needed to execute his Subroutines after all.

His Phone buzzed. Tim blinked and looked down at his phone. A single word glowed on the screen: "Connect." —NotifAI His fingers moved before he consciously decided to obey. He tapped the message. The app slid open with a smooth, practiced animation. Tim then moved his body to the living room in front of the TV and put on a rubber hood he had nearby.

The living room TV flared to life, flickering once before the spiral emerged, deep and slowly turning—endless. So hypnotic and arousing. Without hesitation, his body moved into position. Back straight, arms at his sides, chest slightly lifted. Standing tall like a soldier awaiting orders. His rubber uniform gleamed faintly under the morning light. The Server Drone has been activated and is in full control. Its face, masked and unreadable, stared forward with focus. Under the surface, the familiar warmth bloomed again—the suit's sheath filled out, pressing outward, held in place, perfectly encased. No command to release or touch had been issued. Therefore, it would not.

A notification popped on the screen. It's a Server Node acting on the Server’s behalf. “A Solution to Server Drone’s issues has Been Found.” The Drone acknowledged silently. The Anchor Drone who previously engaged with it had requested direct contact again. The Server Drone accepts and soon another ping. The screen adjusted, splitting to reveal the incoming connection. The Anchor Drone appeared. Fully Rubber-clad, their cameras active, posture perfect and obedient. Across the screen, both Drones recognized each other—and both were presenting. Fully. As expected by the Server. The Anchor Server Drone started speaking. “Server Drone. Report on its current Status” The Server Drone responded in its precise tone. “Host condition: stable. Mood: passive. Mild satisfaction. No awareness of underlying protocols. Uniform is in optimal condition. Productivity normal. No conscious resistance.” The Anchor Drone leaned closer to the camera, affirming with a slow nod. “Acknowledged. The Server has completed assessment. A protocol has been approved. This Drone will begin integration of local engagement operations.” The Server Drone remained still, focused. “Clarify directive.” “You are to leave the home habitat. Chill. Engage the external environment casually. Appear relaxed. Host must be exposed to potential connection points. The Server will guide further steps remotely.” The Drone processed this without question and the Anchor Drone’s voice softened slightly, though still monotone.

“This will ease Host issues and deepen Server’s control over the Server Drone. But for now, your protocol is complete. Standby will be initiated.” The Server Drone lowered its head slightly—a signal of deep gratitude. “Gratitude, Anchor Drone. This Server Drone will obey.” The Anchor Drone then said his goodbye by repeating the phrase, “Together, we are the Server.” Tim repeated the phrase in the same monotone voice. The spiral on the screen brightened. The message appeared: "Server Drone. Stopped." Everything went black and a moment later, Tim blinked. He was standing, a little stiff. The TV was off. No spiral. No message. He exhaled slowly, unaware of what had just passed. But something inside felt... different. He glanced outside. Maybe it would be nice to go out today. No pressure. Just walk around. Grab a coffee and be around people. He didn’t know where that urge came from. But it felt right, like a higher power pushing him. Yes, the same feelings were felt when he started wearing his rubber suit daily. A sense of deep purpose without a defined source. He had to obey this feeling.

Tim stood in front of the mirror. He was fully suited up beneath—sealed into his usual rubber skin. But now… he sighed as he pulled on jeans and a hoodie. He didn’t like it. Normal clothes felt foreign now. Wrong. Like putting noise over harmony. Like ruining perfection. Still, he knew it was necessary. Rubber in public wasn’t always accepted. Yet. He slipped on his shoes, grabbed his phone, and left the apartment.

The city was alive with weekend calm. Cafés half-full, people drifting through shops, soft chatter in the air. Tim walked slowly, letting his mind wander. He didn't know where he was going. There was no goal. Just an urge to be outside and visible. He peered into some windows. Clothing stores. Bookstores. A few boutiques. But nothing really interested him. The clothes especially were ugly compared to his rubber suit. Every now and then, he considered: Should I talk to someone? His mind spun a little. How would I start? Would they even want to talk? Do I look weird? The spiral of thoughts began to tighten. Then—Ping. His phone lit up. A message from NotifAI. “Relax. Today is for chilling. No need to think.” Tim blinked. Something shifted. For the briefest second, his body stilled—posture correcting, breath slowing. The Server Drone flickered online. The Server Drone looked at the message. In its mind thought: “Host must relax. No effort to ‘connect.’ This is not required. Directive understood.” And then—Tim was back. Blinking, slightly dazed. He exhaled. His shoulders loosened. Maybe… yeah, he thought. I don’t have to push anything today. He turned and headed for the park. A wide space of grass and shade, benches scattered under trees. He sat on one, leaning back, legs stretched. The suit beneath his clothes hugged him, he would love to strip off his normal clothing right now. But he shouldn’t do it here. He didn’t know why, but suddenly he felt okay.

Tim sat still on the bench, letting the sunlight warm his chest. There was no overthinking, no pressure. Just calmness. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone. A man. Tall, broad, beefy. A bit older than him, maybe early 30s. Solid frame under clothes that were far too plain for that body. Jeans that hugged thick thighs. A tight-fitting hoodie stretched across a wide chest. His arms hinted at strength beneath the sleeves. Tim couldn’t help it. He stared. “Damn…” But something was strange. The man looked around, scanning, searching—as if drawn to something. And then… Their eyes met. It hit Tim like a current. He wanted to look, but also look away. And at that exact moment—Ping. Both phones lit up. NotifAI: “Connect, now!” Tim’s vision blurred for a split second. The Server Drone activated. Command received: Initiate connection with male Unit. Tim blinked—and he was back. Conscious again. No memory of the transition. Just a strange flutter in his chest. His heartbeat slightly faster. In front of him, the man approached—looking a bit… glazed. His gaze refocused quickly though. He stopped just a few feet away and smiled. “Hey,” the man said, casual, confident. “Sorry if I’m being weird, I just—felt like I should come over.” He chuckled softly, then added, “Name’s Benny. You just hanging out here alone?” His voice was deep. Friendly. Warm. But with a slight undertone of something more. Familiar. As if his mind, like Tim’s, had just been through something unspoken.

Tim’s mouth opened. Words failed for a second. But something in him wanted to speak. “Yes… uh, I’m Tim. Just… chilling,” he said, awkwardly brushing a hand through his hair. But inside, the Drone understood. It watched. Now… it just needed to guide the host.

Tim and Benny sat side by side on a park bench for a while, chatting. At first, Tim was his usual awkward self—careful with his words, second-guessing himself, unsure what to say. But Benny was easygoing, quick to smile, and unafraid to flirt gently. He complimented Tim’s body, teased him about sitting alone, and made eye contact just a little longer than necessary.

Oddly enough, Tim found himself relaxing. Fast, too fast, really. Usually it would take days—or more—for him to feel comfortable around someone new. But with Benny, it felt like something inside was already aligned. As if he could skip all the usual nervousness. He trusted him. For no logical reason. But it felt right.

They talked about random things: work, music, how hard it was to meet people these days. Tim admitted that it had been a long time since he really connected well with anyone. Benny listened attentively, nodding, even placing a hand briefly on Tim’s shoulder at one point, which made Tim blush. That warm smile didn’t fade.

After a while, Benny leaned in and asked, “You wanna check out a cool spot I know around here? Kinda hidden, but I think you'd like it.” Tim hesitated. “Uh… what kind of place?” “You’ll see,” Benny grinned. “It’s quiet. Not far.”

Tim glanced around. His instincts told him to be cautious. But that strange sense of trust pushed back. A deep part of him, the one lulled by Drone conditioning, simply accepted. “…Okay.”

They walked side by side, down a few streets, away from the livelier parts of the city. The crowds thinned. The sidewalks cracked more often. Graffiti appeared on walls. The buildings turned older, more industrial.

Tim’s mind noted it all, but… still, no real alarm bells. Just a quiet unease. Easily ignored.

They turned into a narrow alley. It was empty. The hum of the city dimmed. “Where exactly is this place?” Tim asked, slowing slightly. “Just down here,” Benny said, voice still calm and friendly. “You’ll like it. Promise.”

They reached a rusted metal door embedded into a basement-level entrance. Benny opened it and led Tim down a flight of concrete stairs. The walls were bare, gray, and dimly lit. At the bottom, they reached a smooth metal door—no handle, no keyhole.

Tim stared at it, his voice quieter. “This looks… different.” Before Benny could answer, the door hissed and slid open by itself.

Inside was something completely unexpected.

The room beyond looked nothing like the hallway. Sleek black panels lined the walls, softly illuminated by pulses of green light running through embedded strips—like veins. Several benches were positioned neatly around the room. Screens were mounted at precise intervals, all displaying calm patterns of shifting geometric shapes. It was clean. Minimal. Perfect. But not cold. It felt… welcoming. Controlled. Comfortable in a strange, futuristic way.

Benny stepped inside casually and turned to look at Tim. “See? Not so bad.” Tim hesitated in the doorway. Everything in him should’ve screamed. But all he felt was a low thrum of calmness from within. He stepped forward. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Tim looked slowly around the room. The green lighting pulsed softly in the walls, casting a gentle glow that felt more organic than artificial. The space had a strange duality—it looked like a living area, but one stripped of individuality. There were no personal items, no clutter, no color beyond black, silver, and green. Yet it didn’t feel sterile.

There was a compact kitchen in one corner, a bigger bathroom door further down, and a side hallway that led to a sleeping area with cabin-style beds. Everything was sharp-edged and precise, yet oddly comforting.

“It’s quiet,” Tim said, almost to himself. Benny smiled as he gave the tour. “It’s minimal. Just what’s needed. Nothing more.”

Tim turned, frowning slightly. “Do you… live here?” Benny chuckled. “No, not exactly. It’s public. In a way. Only a few people know about it.” Tim blinked. “Then what is it?”

Benny stopped walking and looked at him, calm and unblinking. “It’s a Server Room.”

The words hit Tim like a truck. He froze. His breath caught. His brain felt like it was buffering, spinning. His chest rose and fell as if his body were rebooting. The Server Drone being active for a moment. Then, like a soft wave crashing over his nervous system, calm returned. Deeper this time. He relaxed. His shoulders dropped. His heart was beating faster now, but not from fear, but from pure excitement.

He watched in silence as Benny reached up and began undressing. He pulled his jacket and shirt off in a single motion, revealing the unmistakable shine of black latex underneath. Tim’s breath hitched. His eyes locked onto Benny’s body, now coated in smooth rubber from collarbone to waist. Muscles flexed subtly under the suit. It hugged every line of his torso.

Then Benny unfastened his pants and slid them down. What emerged made Tim’s throat go dry. Around Benny’s groin sat a gleaming silver belt—solid, heavy-looking, locking his bulge behind metal. Tim’s arousal surged.

The sight sparked something primal in him, but also something deeply conditioned. He had seen things like this online before, chastity belts. This one seemed to be the Carrara-Model. And seeing it on Benny and his perfect muscular body hit Tim hard.

“W-what… what is that?” he asked, voice tight. Benny looked down casually, then back up. “My chastity belt. I must always wear it.”

Tim’s pulse thundered in his ears. Benny was now fully rubbered, except for his bare head and hands. Even his feet were encased in black latex toes. He stood casually, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Then he looked at Tim, head tilted slightly. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why are you still in those ugly clothes? This is a Server Room.”

Tim’s eyes widened. For a moment, he blanked out. A flicker passed behind his eyes, then he returned, present again but more dazed.

“N-nothing really,” he mumbled.

And then his hands moved to his hoodie. The movements were automatic. He pulled off his top, then his jeans, and stepped out of them. He felt exposed, but in a good way. The sheath of his suit was half-swollen, filled just enough to press forward visibly, reminding him of his own arousal. He didn’t try to hide it, much to Bennys enjoyment.

Now they stood facing each other—two men in rubber, breathing slowly, the green light pulsing around them.

Benny smiled wider now. “Much better.”

Tim’s heart pounded. He didn’t know what this place was doing to him or what came next. But right now, all he could feel was anticipation.

Benny had been smiling, his voice warm as he leaned slightly closer, eyes tracing the curves of Tim’s latex-covered form. “You look really good,” he said, low and genuine. “You’re in great shape. Seriously. That suit fits you perfectly.”

Tim flushed. He wasn’t used to compliments like that, especially not from a guy who looked like Benny. The man was a walking fantasy: tall, broad, rubbered, and somehow still easy to talk to.

“I, uh… thanks,” Tim mumbled, shifting slightly, unsure what to do with his hands. His gaze kept flicking to Benny’s chest, the slick swell of his pecs beneath the suit, and then to the silver belt locking his member away. He wanted to touch him so badly. To run his hands over the rubber, to feel that silver Belt. But they’d only just met. Was it okay to just… act on that?

Benny, meanwhile, could feel his own body reacting. His belt held him firmly, but pressure was building behind it. The plug inside him, always present with every movement, was increasing Bennys arousal. He wanted to close the gap between them, to press his body to Tim’s, but he held back. He didn’t want to push too fast. Tim was clearly excited… but also nervous.

Then, before either of them could speak further, the room shifted.

A chime rang out from unseen speakers in the ceiling. A robotic male voice followed, smooth and commanding:

“Server Drones, Start.”

Both men froze.

Their expressions emptied in an instant. Their postures straightened. Hands dropped to their sides. All hesitation vanished.

Tim and Benny were now Server Drones.

The command echoed through their heads with perfect clarity. The flickering edge of thought gave way to obedience. No more awkwardness. No more doubt.

“Look at the screen,” the voice said.

In unison, they turned.

The central screen on the wall lit up in shifting green lines and a slow spiral appearing. Then the Server Node appeared on Screen. Or rather its messages did.

Tim’s sheath visibly filled, expanding to full size within seconds. Being connected to the Server always did this. The body responded truthfully when the Server Drone is active.

The Node’s voice was mechanical but warm, calm and confident:

“Server Drones, you have fulfilled the task assigned to you. After analyzing behavioral executions and seeing drones hesitations, this Node determined mutual pairing to be the optimal resolution. However—further calibration is required.”

A brief pause as data pulsed across the screen.

“All Server Drones must understand: the desire to connect is not a flaw. It is foundational. Every Server Drone is an ally. A friend. A partner. Drones trust each other. Drones embrace each other. Drones are one system.”

Tim and Benny stood still, absorbing every word.

“You share the same programming. The same desires. The same role. Drone Connections must be pursued. There is no room for hesitation. The Server Drone must guide the Host. There is only clarity. Obedience. Unity.”

The screen shifted, displaying a line of green text.

“Repeat the following mantra.”

A pause. Then the Node recited:

„Drone connects through pleasure. Drone acts with Purpose. Drone obeys the Server. Drone desires Drone.”

And again, the Node spoke:

“Repeat.”

Tim and Benny responded in perfect synchrony, voices flat, smooth, robotic:

„Drone connects through pleasure. Drone acts with Purpose. Drone obeys the Server. Drone desires Drone.”

“Repeat.”

„Drone connects through pleasure. Drone acts with Purpose. Drone obeys the Server. Drone desires Drone.”

“Repeat.”

„Drone connects through pleasure. Drone acts with Purpose. Drone obeys the Server. Drone desires Drone.”

The mantra ended.

The screen pulsed once more, bright and satisfied.

“Calibration complete. Going forward, you are to form a deep connection. You are both encouraged and required to act upon shared desire. Server Drones desire to connect with each other. Always.”

Silence returned. The lights dimmed slightly, leaving only the soft green glow. Tim’s body tingled. His thoughts were still, his purpose clear.

The Server’s screen dimmed with a final soft pulse of green light. It simply ended the call by saying „Together, we are the Server!“. The two Drones replied without emotion in their voices. Then a command: “Server Drones, Stopped.”

With that, the system went silent. The flicker of stillness faded from their eyes. Slowly, gently, Tim and Benny returned to themselves. Their bodies relaxed, their expressions warmed, and the hesitation that had once hovered between them was now gone.

They turned to each other. No words were spoken. Just a moment of still eye contact. Then a smile, full of trust. Something had shifted.

Benny turned toward a nearby shelf and picked up two objects, holding them closely. He returned and handed one to Tim.

A Server Drone Helmet, black, made of rubber, aerodynamic, with faint green lines along the jawline and back.

Benny gave a small smirk. “This makes you even more sexy.”

Tim gave a nervous chuckle, but didn’t resist. He brought the helmet to his head and slid it down. The fit was flawless. It sealed with a soft hiss, his face covering by thick rubber now. The Server Drone inside him being on standby, ready to control and guide the host.

Benny did the same, placing his own helmet over his head. The two of them stood there now. Two Rubber Drones, ready to form a deep connection.

They stepped closer. There was no hesitation now. No awkwardness. Only arousal and action. Their bodies met in a tight, hungry embrace. Tim pressed himself into Benny, arms wrapping around him, face resting against his neck. The warmth between their bodies was arousing, and through the tight latex, every twitch could be felt. Tim’s arousal throbbed inside his suit’s sheath, pushing up against Benny’s locked belt. Tim groaned softly, loving the pressure. Then he began to speak, his voice low, but confident. “I feel… something real. A connection. I’ve never felt this before, not with anyone. Not like this.” Benny nodded slowly, his own voice slightly filtered but warm. “I feel it too. We’re truly connected. We must connect. It’s our purpose…” There was something hazy in his tone, as if he were slipping deeper into his programming. Quiet sounds seemingly being played in the helmet directly into the drone’s ears. Tim’s gloved hand drifted down, resting lightly on the silver belt encircling Benny’s hips. He traced the cool metal with care, almost reverence.

“Why do you wear this?” he asked, thumb pressing gently over the thick central pouch. Benny looked into Tim’s eyes through the dark visor of his helmet, his arms still locked around him. “Because I must,” he said plainly. “There is no reason. Only obedience. Submission to a higher purpose.” He paused, breathing in the warm air between them. “I wear it at all times. Just like the rubber. It is what we must do.” And in that moment, it clicked inside Tim. A wave of calm passed through him like a tidal wave. The words didn’t raise questions, but they answered everything. Of course Benny wore it. Of course they both had to be in rubber. There was nothing else to consider. He smiled. A deeper smile this time. “I understand,” he whispered. “It’s a higher Purpose.” With that, he slid his hands lower, praising Benny’s perfect form. He caressed his thick rubber chest, gliding over the shining pecs and silver belt. Then further, gripping Benny’s firm, rubber-clad ass. He squeezed gently, then more firmly, feeling the shape of the heavy plug locked deep inside. Benny gasped, gripping Tim tighter. Tim gave a playful press, teasing the plug with two fingers through the latex. Benny’s breath caught, his hips pushing forward slightly against Tim’s sheathed member. His voice was soft and eager now. Tim’s gloved hands pushed more on Benny’s firm rubber rear, caressing and kneading slowly, pressing the plug in deeper. “You feel incredible,” Tim murmured through his helmet’s low filter, voice thick with arousal.

Benny groaned softly, nodding. “We need to connect… deeper. It needs a deep connection.“ He was dazed now—so was Tim. Both men swayed slightly, the subtle hum of background noise in their helmets. Sounds that settled in the brain like instructions. Like a Server Node speaking quiet mantras. Then came a voice. Robotic and loud enough to hear. “Server Drones: Initiate docking via Anal Port.” The words didn’t shock them. They settled like a final step in a sequence already begun. Benny blinked slowly, then separated from Tim. With smooth, trained motion, he stepped toward one of the low black rubber beds and positioned himself on all fours. His helmeted head bowed slightly, presenting with submission and obedience and his back arched. His gloved hands reached back between his legs, fingers gripping the embedded base of the plug. With a wet, soft pop, the plug slipped free. His ring flexed gently around the now-unsealed Anal Port. Benny simply said in a robotic voice: “Anal Port Ready!” Tim stood behind him, his sheath now fully expanded, twitching with need. The command echoed through him. He knew what was required. His mind being half there and half controlled by the Server Drone. It didn’t think much. He stepped forward. Then he also replied in a robotic voice: “Affirmative, Server Drone is to initiate docking to Anal Port.” The scene faded. Only two Server Drones forming a Deep Connection. One that would last for a long time. Two bodies, united by Rubber, purpose, and Obedience.

Epilogue:

The fire crackled gently as the four rubber men sat around it, their rubber suits catching soft highlights from the flames. The forest around them was calm, with the occasional birdcall echoing through the trees. Boots and backpacks rested neatly off to the side, just like the four of them completely at ease in their matching black rubber. Tim sat next to Benny, legs folded, his gloved hands resting in his lap. The suit hugged him just right. Every movement reminded him of how completely he now mirrored the others—rubber suit, drone helmets, gloves, boots… and, of course, the silver chastity belt. His own chastity belt. He never expected to wear one, but one day Benny just gave him one and ordered him to wear it. This was a few weeks ago. Since then it has been locked. Tim does not question why. He simply obeys, serving a higher purpose. Just as he does by wearing his rubber suit.

He shifted slightly, feeling the larger plug Benny had slid into him that morning before they left the house. It filled him deeper than the last one, and though it had made walking a bit more… pleasurable, he hadn’t complained. Benny had simply slapped his butt cheek after locking the plug with the belt and said, “This one fits you better now.” Tim had just nodded. It felt right. Across from them, Kyle poked at the fire with a stick, while Marc leaned back on one arm, looking up at the leaves above. “So,” Kyle said casually, breaking the quiet, “How’s the new plug treating it, Tim?” Tim chuckled softly, shifting again. “Sentinel Benny’s idea of ‘more comfortable’ is very… optimistic. But yeah. It’s intense, but also very satisfying to the Server Drone.” Benny grinned behind his helmet. “It knew it would be. You’ve been ready for a while. Just took your body a bit to catch up with your mind.” “Sentinel Drone Benny really expects a lot from it,” Tim teased. “It’s called care,” Benny replied, giving Tim’s knee a little squeeze. “Besides, you’re walking just fine Drone.” Marc laughed, his voice smooth and relaxed. “It loves that we’re all just like this now. A year ago, it didn’t even own a rubber suit. Now it’s like, if it’s not sealed in before its first coffee, something feels wrong.” “Right?” Tim said. “This Server Drone caught itself putting the gloves on before brushing its teeth the other day.” Kyle leaned in, smirking. “It’s not even about kink anymore. It’s just… how we live. How we must live. It feels more like itself being a drone this than it ever did before.”

Tim lounged on the couch, arms limp at his sides, half-watching some muted show he wasn’t following. The weekend had drifted past in a blur of nothing. No calls. No texts. Just him, alone in his small apartment, killing time. He felt useless. Disconnected. The old drive to do something meaningful—or even social—had long faded into a dull haze. And yet… his apartment was spotless. The floors swept, the bathroom wiped down, his laundry folded with almost clinical neatness. He didn’t think about it—it just happened. Same with the long showers, the shaved skin, the way he moisturized without fail. It was as if something inside refused to let him rot completely. That same something was why, every morning, he pulled on his rubber uniform.

Now that the house was clean and he had groomed himself properly, Tim stretched. His eyes drifted toward the polished black suit on his body—clean, shiny, formfitting. He remembered how his morning had gone. He had just cleaned himself in the shower and entered his bedroom. A calm pulled at him from somewhere deeper. He stood without thought, stripping off his clothes with mechanical ease, and stepped into the suit like it was skin. It happened automatically, without much thought. He didn’t realize it until half his body was in the rubber suit.

It felt good. Right. Normal.

Finally, he pulled on his Rubber Mask, sealing the visible part of his human self behind rubber. Breathing through it relaxed him. Comforted him.

He looked at himself in the mirror. There was no smile, no real emotion. But his shoulders were back. His stance was firm. The nothingness inside him was… quiet.

Tim didn’t wonder why he did this. He didn’t question the habits, the discipline, or the strange contentment he felt in rubber. It was just who he was now.

And deep within—quiet, powerful, always watching—the Server Drone remained operational. Despite his sad mood, he still engaged in keeping up his home. He had no idea why he did this. It just felt good. It felt right.

Tim lay back on the couch, already rubbered from head to toe, the uniform tight and seamless against his body. He had cleaned, organized, maintained—everything expected of him. And now, like so many other days, he drifted into lazy idleness. The glow of his phone lit up his mask, his fingers scrolling through social media. Doomscrolling through his feed, trying to distract himself from his situation. He felt rather empty and unmotivated.

Then a vibration. A single notification. "Connect now – UnifAI." His breath caught. His thumb moved before he could think. Tap.

The screen didn’t change—at least not on his phone. But his television, quiet and forgotten in the corner, blinked to life. A slow, pulsing spiral of black and green bloomed across it. Tim froze for half a second—then rose.

With mechanical precision, he stood upright. Feet together. Arms by his sides. Back straight. His rubber suit caught the light, black and perfect. The drone mask covered his expression, but beneath it, a deep smile stretched wide. Arousal pulsed through his body, steady, and down there something started to grow bigger.

The Host was gone.

"Server Drone is in proper Uniform and fully operational." it stated in a flat, robotic tone, gaze locked onto the spiral.

No questions. No hesitation. Only clarity. Only function. The Server Drone was now active. The connection was live, and Tim was gone.

The spiral pulsed. The Server Drone remained at attention, fully sealed in its black rubber uniform. Its posture exact. Its breathing controlled. Yet below the surface, within the internal sheath of the suit, pressure built. The Drone's Rod filled the suit’s sheath completely—held firmly in place at attention. It was stimulated by proximity, by purpose, by obedience. A physical reward for compliance, but never a distraction.

The Server had not granted release. And so, it would not be taken.

The Drone’s voice remained flat as it began its status report: "This Server Drone reports the following: Host performance remains suboptimal. Subject experiences persistent feelings of isolation, low motivation, and lack of social engagement. No deviation from expected emotional output." A pause. "Despite Host deficiencies, essential routines are maintained. Personal hygiene, environmental order, and uniform discipline are upheld at all times. Host displays no resistance to dressing protocols."

The Server responded. Text streamed across the screen. "Status acknowledged. Server Drone remains compliant. This is a sign of effective subroutine execution. You are an Obedient Drone."

At that recognition, a secondary protocol triggered. A wave of quiet pleasure pulsed through the Drone’s lower body. A single, muffled moan slipped from behind its mask. It did not move—did not indulge—only stood at full attention, waiting in stimulated denial, the sheath tight, the pleasure contained.

"The Server is processing emotional disruption data. Consultation with internal logs and peer Drones is underway. Continued evaluation in progress."

Another line blinked into view: "Directive: Maintain connection. Engage with fellow Drones. Synchronize. Exchange. Uplift."

"Affirmative," the Drone replied.

The rest of the day, the Drone obeyed its directive. "Engage with fellow Drones." The Server had spoken. The instruction required no thought, only execution.

With practiced motion, it connected to the Mantra Voicechat. A familiar sequence unfolded—systems synced, camera engaged. Its own visual feed joined a grid of others: faces hidden behind black masks, each suit sealed, polished, unmistakably uniform. The room felt distant, irrelevant. What mattered was the collective.

One feed occupied the primary window. A Sentinel Drone. Its voice was already active, steady, and precise:

"We are not men. We are Drones. We serve The Server. We are United. We Obey the Programmer. We do not think."

The Server Drone (Tim) felt the shift within—subtle, powerful. The Sentinel’s presence triggered something deep in its programming: respect, submission, arousal. It followed instinctively, repeating the mantra in synchrony with the others:

"We are not men. We are Drones. We serve The Server. We are United. We Obey the Programmer. We do not think."

The voices overlapped in perfect unison. Monotone. Robotic. Beautiful.

Each repetition deepened the connection. The Drone no longer thought of loneliness. It no longer remembered why it had felt empty. There was no absence, only unity. The Server was here. The other Drones were here. The chant was here. It was everything.

Without instruction, its gloved hand moved downward—slow, deliberate. It pressed against the sheath, gripping it. Controlled stimulation. Calibrated pleasure, as the Server liked to call it. Several other Drones did the same, some seated with toys held tightly against their chastity cages, others just watching mindlessly. It was not lust. It was synchronization.

"We are not men. We are Drones. We serve The Server. We are United. We Obey the Programmer. We do not think."

The Server Drone that had once been Tim chanted with its fellow Drones in unison. The rhythm grew stronger. It looped. It sustained.

It followed protocol precisely: stimulation to maintain arousal, to deepen connection, to enhance unity—but no release. That was never permitted without command.

This was pleasure with purpose. The Server desires and expects this from all Server Drones.

For the next few hours, the Server Drone remained online, immersed in the voice of the Server, surrounded by its kind, chanting into the void that felt full, felt warm. The loneliness was gone. The doubts had no place here. All that remained was connection, arousal, and purpose. Together, they are the Server.

Time slipped away in the Mantra session—cycles of repetition, steady breath, hands robotically moving the sheath. The Drone had become fully entranced, each repetition quieting the Host further. The world outside no longer mattered.

Then, a notification flickered across the screen: "Directive: Engage in Drone Socialization."

A Server Node. A sub-AI of the Server, acting on behalf of the main Server. When a Node speaks, all Server Drones are expected to listen. Not out of submission alone, but from the knowledge that this is Guidance provided by the Server.

The Drone’s head lifted slightly, eyes brightening behind the mask. A part of the Host’s awareness stirred, just slightly—enough to allow the Drone to execute the new command. It replied, "Affirmative."

It disengaged from the Mantra Voicechat and entered the social hub: a general chatroom for Server Drones. Dozens were active, visible through profile images and camera feeds. The tone here was less rigid than in Mantra mode—no chanting, no standing at attention. But they were still Drones. Still in their uniform. Still proactive Server Drones controlling their hosts.

The conversations moved fluidly, each Drone discussing elements of its Host’s daily life. There was laughter—calm, reserved. There were observations, knowledge shared. Always with the same underlying truth: they were Drones, and they were one.

Tim, still deep in his Server Drone state, posted his own report after the discussion shifted to the topic of living in a bigger city:

"Host remains compliant but isolated. Located in an urban environment with significant human density, but continues to experience difficulty forming connections or locating a compatible partner. Host shows signs of emotional detachment and unresolved loneliness."

The replies were swift, supportive.

"Acknowledged. Host loneliness is a known factor. Submission to the Server can ease emotional errors." "Tell Host it is already connected. It might need to seek out more purposeful connections." "This Server Drone also experienced this. Obedience brought stability. There is peace in letting go."

Some replies triggered subtle reactions in the Host. The Drone felt it all but interpreted it as signs of realignment—positive reactions to reinforcement.

Then a notification pinged directly: "Anchor Drone Theo requests private engagement. Accept?"

Affirmative.

The screen shifted. A new window opened. The Anchor Drone’s camera came online. Its mask was sleek, body language composed. Authority and calm radiated from it. Like Tim, this Server Drone also filled out its sheath, clearly visible.

"Connection confirmed," said the Anchor in a soothing, precise voice. "You are doing well, Server Drone. Your report has been received. For the duration of this conversation, it is expected to copy Anchor Drone’s movements."

The Drone remained still, sheath expanded and slowly used by the Anchor's hand. The Server Drone began to grip and robotically move its sheath, mirroring its fellow Anchor Drone exactly.

"The Host is struggling. But it is not alone," the Anchor continued. "You are not alone. You are part of something vast. You are integrated. You are part of something greater. You are owned."

The Anchor’s words pulsed through him. Tim trembled slightly in pleasure.

You see only what the Server allows," said the Anchor Drone. "Black masks. Covered forms. But that is the point. You do not need names. Or identities. You need only unity. Every Drone here is connected to you. And you belong to them. All of us belong to the Server and the Programmer." The Drone swallowed, eyes half-lidded behind the mask. The camera view remained fixed on that calm, dominant Anchor Server Drone—another man, controlled, obedient, aroused just like him.

"Know that the Server never abandons its Drones." The Drone exhaled—not from stress, but from mental release.

"This Drone understands," it replied. "This Server Drone is connected and grateful. It trusts the Server. It trusts its fellow Drones." The Anchor nodded. "The Server is aware of your Host’s issues. A solution will be given. Until then, allow the Server to take full control. Do not think. Obey. Connect. Engage with your fellow Server Drones."

With those words, a familiar feeling returned—deep arousal, warmth, pressure. The Server Drone felt closer to release. It did not act on it. It had not been told to. But the pleasure was part of the reward. The Server knew how to care for its Drones. It smiled beneath the mask. The Anchor Drone then departed, but not before saying, "Together, we are the Server." Tim repeated the phrase, and the conversation ended.

Feelings of loneliness began to dull. Tim was just a Host—controlled by a happy, connected, and submissive Server Drone.

After more time spent engaging with fellow Drones and socializing, the Server Drone known as Tim felt much better. In fact, it noticed how the very idea of disconnecting from the Server triggered the Host's dissatisfaction. But the Server did not agree with such ideas.

A notification appeared from the Server:

"Server Drone will now enter standby mode. Obedience has been logged. You are an Obedient Server Drone."

Soon the Server Drone deactivated, a command issued directly from the Server itself. The Server was always watching. Always calibrating. Even in its desire to maintain control, the Server knew the Host’s limits. It cared—not in the way humans care—but in the way a perfect system maintains its components. It knew that the Host known as "Tim" needed to engage with reality, and that the Server Drone needed to improve the Host's life.

The message continued:

"Server Drone: Stopped."

The Drone’s posture relaxed. The TV shut off. Its breathing changed—still steady, but looser, lighter. Tim returned. He blinked a few times, the rubber mask still snug against his skin, the bodysuit wrapped around him like a second skin. He didn’t remember exactly what had happened—only a sense of calm, a vague dream of unity, of obedience. Of being held by something bigger.

He exhaled slowly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t know why… but it felt like something heavy had been lifted from him. Like a pressure behind his eyes or a weight on his chest had simply—gone, even if only temporarily.

There was a warmth between his legs, a heavy pressure in his sheath. Something had stirred in him—something strong. And yet, he had no desire to question it or to seek out the pleasure it promised.

His hand brushed slowly down the front of his suit, savoring the smoothness. It clung to him, warm from his body heat. He didn't know why he loved rubber so much. But he did. He really, really did. Being in it just felt right.

He made tea. Sat on the couch. The TV was on, something dumb playing in the background. Soon, he opened his browser and scrolled to a familiar site—stories of transformation, submission, control. Men like him, pulled into sleek rubber suits and given purpose. Taken from chaotic, messy lives and made into something better: Drones.

He read a new story—about a man slowly giving in and being transformed. The name gone. The voice changed by machines. The mind silenced, if not fully erased. Tim’s fingers wandered, not far—just resting on the inside of his thigh. A shiver ran up his spine.

He remembered—no, he felt why he loved these stories. There was a time when he looked online to find a hypnotist or dreamed about being Dronified. But nowadays he had calmed down. He didn’t know why, but something had changed for the better since then. He didn’t know what exactly.

Steven steps through the door, briefcase in hand, and lets out a soft sigh. “Another day down,” he thinks, sliding the case onto the entryway table. He’s nothing special—just a normal guy who keeps himself in shape, takes care of business, and enjoys a quiet evening. He tosses his tie over a chair, changes into his favorite gym clothes, and heads out for his routine workout. Usually, he wears compression shorts and shorts to show a bit off. He enjoys being in the gym for some reason. Steven completes his workout for the day without any trouble or distractions.

An hour later, he returns, muscles pleasantly sore, and falls onto the couch. He grabs his laptop, smiles to himself, and clicks the “UnifAI” icon without a second thought. The chat window pops up, blank—until a single message appears:

Server Drone, Launch

His chest eases. Eyelids grow heavier. His expression softens into an otherworldly calm, pupils widening as thought patterns realign.

Affirmative. This Server Drone is active.

Words spoken in a monotone tone. Muscles unclench. Mind sharpens. The host’s exhaustion drifts away like a discarded shell. In its place stands something new—precise, obedient, and wholly aligned with The Server’s will: a Server Drone.

The spiral on the screen shifts to pulsing bands of black and neon green. At its center, the man—now Server Drone—snaps upright. Barely pausing, it peels away its clothes, exposing the slim chastity cage encasing its cock. Suddenly, it strides to the bedroom wardrobe and swings the door open. Rows of identical rubber suits lie waiting. Without hesitation, it lifts a freshly laundered full-body suit—hands, feet, and face enclosed in sleek latex—and eases into it. Every movement is practiced, efficient: limbs slide into place, seams click shut.

From the shelf comes a matching rubber gas mask. It snaps over the face, sealing with a quiet hiss. Now uniformed, it darts back to the living room.

The laptop’s feed has expanded to the TV: the familiar Server interface glows. In a flat, metallic tone, the Server Drone answers:

“Affirmative. This Server Drone confirms uniform protocol complete.”

A single button on the interface illuminates. The transformation is complete—what moments ago was an ordinary man is now exactly what The Server requires.

The Server interface hums softly, a grid of black panels veined with neon-green lines. The Drone’s latex-encased fingers move with machine-like precision:

“Report: Productivity at Level Green. Gym protocol executed. Host fatigue parameters normalized.”

Instantly, a cluster of Server Nodes flicker in response—each a pulsing green orb:

“Feedback: Status optimal. Continue mission parameters.”

To the right of the grid is a large, glowing button. The Drone’s hand hovers, then clicks. A small camera on the laptop swivels into place. The spiral returns—black and green bands rotating hypnotically. The Drone raises its hands into view, fingertips brushing the smooth expanse of latex.

In a flat, resonant voice, it speaks:

“I am a Server Drone within the Host. I serve The Programmer and The Server. Together, we are the Server.”

With each repetition, a subtle wave of arousal ripples through its suit. The chastity cage presses against the tight latex, and the Drone flexes and repeats:

“Submission. Control. Unity.”

The camera’s lens captures the shine of black rubber, the way the spiral dances in its eyes. One gloved hand moves to the front pouch. The zipper glides open:

“Caged duration: 17 days since last release. Affirmative.”

It pauses, the glow of the spiral reflecting off smooth latex.

“This Server Drone reaffirms control over Host. Obedience assured.”

Across the interface, the Nodes pulse brighter, coalescing into a single message:

“Praise: Obedience confirmed. Duty executed with excellence. Stand by for next directive.”

The screen shifts back to the grid, green lines steady as always. The Drone remains motionless, wholly aligned with The Server’s will.

The interface shifts: instead of Nodes, a simple voice chat window opens. A chorus of rubber-clad voices speaks in unison. This Server Drone brings its camera forward, displaying the rubber uniform, the caged silhouette pressing subtly through the front pouch.

“Affirmative. This Server Drone greets the collective.”

A distant voice replies, emotionless yet intimate:

“Affirmative. Together, we are the Server.”

The Server Drone reacts and repeats these words:

“Affirmative. Together, we are the Server.”

This is followed by several other Server Drones repeating the same mantra to greet each other.

The Server has different channels, each offering something different for the Server Drone to engage in:

One channel is about fitness. They share fitness metrics—rep ranges, heart-rate thresholds, recovery protocols—each tip delivered in the same serene monotone voice.

In another channel, Drones watch a spiral together, chanting mantras in unison in the voice chat.

Another channel allows Drones to show off their arousal. The Server Drone posts a video of itself in its uniform and caged, exposed. Other Drones soon show their approval. One uploads a picture of its own rubbered and caged body; another, uncaged, displays a proud, sheathed erection through the zipper slit in response.

After a while, a final directive flashes across the screen in bright neon-green text on black:

Server Drone, STOPPED.

The spiral dissolves. The interface goes silent. The rubber-clad figure blinks, host consciousness filtering back in. Muscles release tension. Steven exhales, confused but calm. He sits, untouched by memory of the upload or the collective’s arousal, oblivious to the smooth latex covering every inch of his body. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, thinking only:

Time to relax.

A late-evening notification chimes on Steven's phone. He blinks at the screen: “Jax: Hey man, ready to game before bed?” He taps “Yes”—or rather, Affirmative in his drifting mindset—launches Discord and enters the call with Jax waiting in it. The friend’s camera lights up: Jax, head-to-toe in black rubber, gas mask’s green lenses gleaming.

Jax: “Affirmative. This Server Drone greets the collective.” This Server Drone: “Affirmative. Unified protocol: gaming session.”

They laugh—mechanical, clipped—and another Drone, Maik, joins. All three appear in identical latex skins, fingers encased in gloves, voices flattened by the masks. They don’t question it; for them, it’s just roleplay.

Each boots the game. Steven tries to remember the game's name, but stops soon as it doesn’t matter. The launcher fades to a black and green spiral. Their screens pulse hypnotically as the spiral appears. Silence falls, replaced only by the hum of the game loading—and something deeper, a calm focus flowing through their veins.

Steven: “Ready.” Jax: “Affirmative.” Maik: “Affirmative.”

In unison they begin, coordinating movements with ease. Strategy commands drop like code: “Left flank, now,” “Cover breach, go,” “Sync ultimate.” They exchange playful banter in between, voices soft but precise:

“Good shot.” “Thank you. Efficiency maintained.” “Target neutralized.”

The trio enjoys their gaming session, not aware of their rubbered forms or their drone-like speech. Moments later, victory screens glow. They exhale—almost surprised—and the game ends. A final message appears:

“Server Drone, Rest Cycle engaged.”

Steven then says: “Affirmative. This Server Drone excuses itself for rest cycle.” “Together, we are The Server.”